For Love of Patria
by xxoxLOVELESSxoxx
Summary: The Summer Revolution is approaching but not everyone is enthusiastic about it. Some have seen far too much sacrifice and bloodshed to last an eternity... Slight Axis Powers: Hetalia cross. Cross posted on A03.(Chapter 1: Prologue)
1. Prologue

**Okay! My first foray into the Les Miserables fandom!**

**Not sure if this has been done before but I was scrolling through the the Les Miserables tag on Tumblr and saw lots of jokes about Enjolras and his obsession with Patria and I thought, 'What if Patria was there all along?'**

**And thus was born this little brain-fart!**

**For those not familiar with Axis Powers: Hetalia, it is a Japanese manga/anime comedy series set in World War II with anthropomorphised countries focusing on Northern Italy (the 'Hetalia' of the title. Japanese: Hetare Italia lit. 'Useless Italy'). I advise you to check it out (manga fan or not), it's funny and ever so slightly offensive! So in this case Grantaire is France.**

**It's just the prologue to start with and see where it goes.**

* * *

The cold rain splashed on the cobbled streets and ran down the drains as the puddles glowed in the lights of Café Musain. Loud voices, full of merriment and song filled the empty street as the revellers drank their fill. The group on the second floor were especially raucous this evening. They were The Les Amis de l'ABC. They were currently debating their coming plan; to start a revolution, to take back power from a useless king and corrupt officials, to help the people in their poverty and forced to live in squalor. The students often did this whilst drinking and none more so than the habitual drunkard, Grantaire. Grantaire often wondered why he bothered indulging these boys and their wild fantasies of freedom, liberty, and equality. It would never happen. A prosperous France was a France in the distant past and the imaginations of a group of idealistic young men. He took another deep swig from the wine bottle and huddled in his corner, listening to the growing rallying cries of the students. Their leader took centre stage as the din reached a crescendo. Enjolras had that effect on people: he captured people's attention, made them want to listen. A beautiful Apollo amongst mortals. Ah, this was the reason he stayed. Not that he agreed with much the young revolutionary had to say but Enjolras intrigued him nonetheless.

Grantaire was far too wearied by several millennia of wars and revolutions. Older nations such as he, Britannia, and China had seen it all and seen too much. There had been so much bloodshed in the past few centuries, more so than ever before and he was tired. He no longer had the energy to fight. A succession of incompetent rulers, corrupt politicians, and warmongers had drained him. Listening to these revolutionaries was a repeated stab to the chest as they spoke of freeing him from oppression. Grantaire was sick of so many sacrificing themselves for him and for what? Nothing had really changed. Nothing except him as he became more and more jaded over the years. He had tried to dissuade them through counterarguments and cynicism but his attempts were becoming more half-hearted as the weeks went by as he realised there would be no stopping them. He smiled bitterly with his lips to the wine bottle. If only they knew what they were throwing their preciously short lives away for; a scruffy alcoholic with nothing left to give. Grantaire had given up, just as many of his citizens had. France had had enough.


	2. Late Night Visits

**Not entirely sure where I'm going with this but I tend to get little random bursts of inspiration in the oddest places!**

**Let's see where this takes us!**

* * *

"...And the people will never have to starve or beg! Little ones will not be left to wander and die on the streets! Our France will be a free France with equality for all! We will fight for the people! For Patria!"

Grantaire's attention was brought back to the present at an exceptionally loud applause. The end of Enjolras' rallying speech was met with roaring cheers and the banging of tankards from the students gathered. Grantaire smirked into his rapidly emptying wine bottle.

"Something amuses you, Grantaire?" Enjolras asked coldly.

"Everything dear Apollo. You speak of revolution and noble goals but I see a flaw in your reasoning that you have overlooked."

"And pray tell, what is that?" Enjolras' eyes narrowed.

"You assume the people will rise when you call but they will not. You and I both know this. They pay lip-service to your cause but when push comes to shove, they will back away and hide in their homes. It is human nature. They want better lives but only if they do not have to make the effort themselves; let others do the work and they enjoy the benefits." Grantaire brought the bottle to his lips to drain the rest. He stood and made his way slightly haphazardly to the bar.

"Is it not also human nature to want to better their lot? To strive for a better life? Mutual cooperation can ensure that."

"You speak the truth. Man does want to better itself however, as I said, that does not mean they will do anything about it when the time comes."

"You do not honestly believe that do you Grantaire?" The soft voice of Jehan Prouvaire floated between the bickering pair.

"I do my friend. I do. And believe me, I do not say this to be cruel..."

"Though it sounds it all the same." Combeferre interrupted.

"I'll concede to that but as I say, I do not mean to be cruel. I say these things because I care and fear you are all on a fool's errand."

"Perhaps for you it may be folly Grantaire but some of us want to fight for our freedom and that of others. If we do not, who will?" This garnered a murmur of assent through the crowd. "And for that matter, since when have you cared for the cause?" Enjolras had returned to the debate, voice full of distain for the drunkard.

Grantaire turned, raising a new wine bottle.

"Who said I cared for the cause?" He said and wandered down the stairs, feeling the eyes of the Les Amis on his back.

_'I care not for their blasted cause. Are they too blinded by it to see that my concern lies for them?'_

It was later than he thought as Grantaire followed his usual route home. Lights from the buildings had long ago went out as Paris slept. It was always now that he felt at ease. The pain of his citizens, their fear and despair was muted and dimmed by both sleep and copious amounts of alcohol. He ran a hand down his face and gripped his bottle tighter. There would be no dissuading them it seemed. Grantaire had reached the ramshackle apartment building he called home just as the first light was creeping over the horizon. If he was lucky, he would be asleep before the people began their day. The narrow staircase was difficult to climb in his current inebriated state but he managed to reach his apartment without incident. Shutting and locking his door behind him, Grantaire took stock. The place was tiny; large, high windows let in lots of light (too much in his opinion), an old, worn plush chair stood in the corner alongside his meagre kitchen, his bed a mere covered mattress on the floor... which was currently occupied.

"What are you doing here Britain? Leave."

Sitting on the edge of the the bed was a rather short man with dirty blond hair and obnoxious eyebrows. He was smartly dressed in the fashions of his citizens, prim and bolt upright. He looked extremely out of place in Grantaire's grotty little apartment as he regarded the drunk with intelligent green eyes.

"Not quite a fitting abode for a nation to reside, brother."

"If you are here to mock me, to gloat, then I must repeat myself. Leave." Grantaire snarled, "I shall live as my people do."

"No, I am not here to mock you. I am here because I am concerned. Your drinking has reached new hitherto unseen levels, you are becoming less and less yourself as the years pass. Where is the noble warrior I was proud to call my closest friend and bitterest rival? No , I am not here to gloat but I worry for your welfare."

Grantaire scoffed, eliciting a frown from Britain.

"Our leaders may be always at loggerheads but it need not be so between us." Britain had stood as he spoke.

"Then what would would you have me do? I am powerless to help my people. You know that as well as I!" As he spoke, Grantaire absently rubbed at his side. An ugly scar under his shirt that had never quite vanished. The Hundred Years War and the Napoleonic Wars had taken their toll on both of them it seemed. That particular scar, the Battle of Agincourt, was a rather nasty one (not that he had not given Britain his fare share).

"You may be, as are we all really but the answer is staring you right in the face France: The Les Amis de l'ABC. They want to help you? Let them help."

"I have seen the kind of help they wish to give and believe me, it never ends well for anyone involved. If you think I will help a group of young men with good intentions commit suicide in my name then perhaps you do not know me as well as you thought, Britain."

Britain looked away, glancing at the empty bottles and torn-up sketches littering the floor.

"Perhaps I did once... I will take my leave then, brother."

Grantaire watched as the other nation left his lodgings. Britain was wrong. He would not lead another group of men to their deaths. He locked the door again and curled up on the mattress. Hopefully sleep would claim him before the sun came up.


End file.
